Ambrose Philips (1674–1749)

HAVE ye seen the morning sky,

When the dawn prevails on high,

When, anon, some purple ray

Gives a sample of the day,

When, anon, the lark, on wing,

Strives to soar, and strains to sing?

Have ye seen the ethereal blue

Gently shedding silvery dew,

Spangling o’er the silent green,

While the nightingale, unseen,

To the moon and stars, full bright,

Lonesome chants the hymn of night?

Have ye seen the broider’d May

All her scented bloom display,

Breezes opening, every hour,

This, and that, expecting flower,

While the mingling birds prolong,

From each bush, the vernal song?

Have ye seen the damask rose

Her unsully’d blush disclose,

Or the lily’s dewy bell,

In her glossy white, excell,

Or a garden vary’d o’er

With a thousand glories more?

By the beauties these display,

Morning, evening, night, or day;

By the pleasures these excite,

Endless sources of delight!

Judge, by them, the joys I find,

Since my Rosalind was kind,

Since she did herself resign

To my vows, for ever mine.